


No Promise Of War Without Casualty

by hollo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Death, Established Relationship, Grief, Injury, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Memories, Shock, Wounds, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollo/pseuds/hollo
Summary: His death was as reckless and bold as his life had been.Sword swinging, movement sure and fluid, dancing between the witch’s beasts, he seemed unstoppable, uncatchableUnbeatable.





	No Promise Of War Without Casualty

**Author's Note:**

> This is first and foremost a story about grief, written while working through grief. It's been a difficult few years. As it is, you may find it grammatically awkward but sometimes I write for effect rather than for pretty grammar and sentence structure.
> 
> Please pay mind to the tags, and please note the following before reading: this story includes a bit of cleaning a body after death. Not in high detail, but its there. 
> 
> Thank you for visiting,

His death was as reckless and bold as his life had been.

Sword swinging, movement sure and fluid, dancing between the witch’s beasts, he seemed unstoppable, uncatchable. Unbeatable.

But there were so many of them, and Keith had ranged too far ahead, beyond any of their reaches. He’d only grown more confident in his skills over the years and Lance had told him, Lance had _warned_ him but -

 

\- but Lance could only watch, helpless to stop the moment that seemed to unfold in slow motion before him as he raced to join the fray: the last beasts closing in, roars shaking the floor and the walls, Keith’s sword glistening in the violet light.

And Lance running towards it all, firing as he went, feeling the weight of each second dragging at him.

No one had promised an easy battle, no one had ever promised they'd make it out without casualties, but after years of wild fights and wilder escapes he'd let himself believe in naive optimism that it would never happen to _them_ . And certainly never to _him_.

Keith didn't belong dead. He belonged where he'd always been, skimming the deep waters, boldly risking his life in maneuvers and missions that would have left others buried long ago. Keith cheated death. He stared death in the face as they met on the very edge of survival and dodged it's reaching fingers to fall back into life again.

Keith didn't die.

Lance's blaster shot the last beast’s head off it's shoulders but it was far too late. The body stumbled a step, then two, and fell twitching to the ground, and he waited. The purplish ichor of the beasts blood spread slowly, thick as syrup, pressed against the pool of red blossoming under Keith’s still form where it had fallen just seconds before.

And Lance waited, because - because -

Keith would get up, and they'd head back to the castle -

The purple of the beast’s blood mixed slowly with the red, turning muddy brown. Turning dirty.

\- and Keith would argue against the pod but they'd put him into it anyway - Lance forced the thoughts into being above the raging, feral fear that clawed its way up from his subconscious - and when the pod opened to let him out Lance would be there to catch him, and kiss him, and make him promise never to be so stupid again.

The echoes of battle began to echo in his ears, and distantly he felt his body begin shaking. His mind was screaming comprehension at him but he refused to accept it.

His eyes were locked on Keith where he'd fallen, and he waited.

  


But Keith didn't get up.

  


-

 

They brought Keith back to the castle after the battle, the lions drawing a somber parade in the skies of Olkarion, escorted in by rebel craft. Everything was a blur, everything felt surreal. Shiro carried Keith to the infirmary, Pidge following with tears streaming down her face, straining to contain her hiccuping sobs. Hunk walked with Lance, one warm hand on his elbow, and all the while Lance thought be should feel something other than numb. Thought he should feel something other than nothing.

“Lance,” Hunk said softly as they reached the infirmary, but his voice came to Lance like through water, muffled and distorted, and Lance could only turn a confused, searching look to his friend’s face. Hunk’s cheeks were wet with tears and his eyes were soft with sympathy but there was a skip in Lance’s brain, a stuttering in his mind and he felt like he hadn’t quite caught up yet.

He couldn't focus.

Shiro was laying Keith on a medical table with delicate care, and Lance couldn't focus.

The walls of the infirmary seemed to swim around him, the lights were at once too bright and not bright enough, everything lit up but fuzzy. Keith was there, unmoving, his armor almost supernaturally bright among them, and all Lance could do was wander from Hunk’s side to stand next to him. To look down at him. His eyes were half-lidded and Lance couldn’t help but think he looked tired like that, think that he needed some rest. It was a difficult battle. He should rest.

He realized he’d come to stand next to Shiro, his awareness catching on to the older man’s form. Shiro cried openly if not loudly, no sobs wracking his body, but Lance could tell. And when he dragged his eyes away from Keith to look at Shiro he could see the pain in his eyes. Even after all the ups and downs of their relationship, they’d been so close. Friends, brothers practically, they loved each other _so much_ and Lance could see how it broke Shiro to see have to see Keith like this. Like _this_ like he was -

Lance thought he should say something but he didn’t know what. His mind was still frozen, his body distant and unreal. He used to have words, he used to have so many words, but it felt like they’d all fallen out back there among the beasts and the fighting, and he hadn’t had the time to pick them back up again.

Shiro turned to meet his gaze finally, sorrow etched in the lines of his face and darkening his eyes, and all Lance could do was look at him and say,

“I’m sorry.”

Shiro didn't answer, searched his face as if looking for something he’d lost, the sorrow in his eyes only deepening with what he found there. He reached out after a moment, pulled Lance into a tight hug, warm and solid, and Lance hadn't realized he was cold until that moment, hadn't realized he'd been shaking until his own arms wrapped around Shiro. He pressed his face into Shiro’s shoulder, blocked out the wavering walls and the bright lights and even though he could still hear the sobbing echoing it felt like it couldn’t reach him, like he was safe and hidden away from it all within Shiro’s arms. Even in his grief Shiro felt solid to him, even though he could feel Shiro shaking as well Lance felt steadier. It almost felt like nothing was wrong at all.

 

And Lance wanted to stay in his arms, to feel the warmth when he felt so numb otherwise, but his mind was elsewhere, and his eyes strayed to Keith’s still form on the table. For a moment, with his face buried in Shiro’s shoulder he’d almost forgotten, he’d almost forgotten that-

He turned back to the table, Shiro loosening his hold. His gaze strayed over Keith but it was like his mind couldn’t put it all together. He saw everything in bits and pieces; the slightly parted lips, the angle of a leg, the way his left arm was bent, his hand tilted outwards, open. Lance reached out and took it in his own, wrapped numb fingers around Keith’s stiff ones. Tried to make sense of it all.

But there was no sense to be made. His mind couldn’t keep up, couldn’t yet connect the Keith he knew with the Keith laying before him. Because Keith was dynamic, even in his sleep when he'd lay next to Lance in their bed. The lines and curves of his body evoked motion even as he dreamed quietly. Keith was _potential_ in every moment, in every pose.

Now he just lay loose and cold, dark eyes half lidded and staring. There was no motion in the stiff, awkward angles of his body, no movement. He looked a stranger to Lance’s mind. He looked nothing like himself at all.

A trickle of blood had escaped the corner of his lip and Lance reached a hand out to brush it from the ashen skin. The red stayed, long since dried.

“He fought well,” Allura murmured from nearby, voice low with grief. Someone let out a choked sob behind him - Pidge perhaps. Perhaps. Hunk had come to stand next to Lance, his hand cupping Lance’s elbow, and Shiro still had an arm around his shoulders, and maybe Lance should’ve felt grounded, or warmed, or something other than the continuing numb chill. He felt so distant. He felt so _far_ and he felt like he was moving even farther away.

Coran stepped up to the other side of the table, and maybe he said something to Lance but his words were lost in the air before they reached his ears. Someone else said something about shock, something about unexpected, but the murmurs rolled over Lance like a wave, like a real wave, maybe it was a wave because his face felt wet and he couldn’t really remember why.

“Lance, maybe we should take a little walk,” Hunk said close to his ear, soothingly, softly, his hand wrapping a bit tighter around Lance’s arm. Lance blinked, tilted his head towards Hunk like that could help him parse the meaning, the words running ragged round his brain. Shiro gave him a slight push, no not a push just a pressure - Hunk’s hand gave him the gentlest of tugs, his voice continuing in Lance’s ear, soft but becoming strained like he was holding it back, holding it back, “Come on, just a short one…”

His words were lost to the echoes of Lance’s head but the movement didn’t go unnoticed, the tug away from Keith didn’t go unfelt, and Lance curled forward, back over the table, grip tightening on Keith’s cold hand as something hot and fierce woke in his chest and shot up his throat to snarl a fierce

“No.”

Hunk’s hand tightened around his arm again, as if he were ready to pull him away bodily, but then he stopped. Lance could feel his hold loosen, his hand let him go, and from his other side Shiro spoke up.

“We’ll give you a moment.” He said, the arm still curled around Lance’s shoulder giving him a slight squeeze, his tone soft and full of understanding.

More words, the soft touch of a hand on the small of his back, Hunk hovering close by, and then he could hear them leaving, hear their steps moving away. Allura stopped next to him, placed a hand on his arm and waited until he turned to her. She looked so solemn and sad, the brightness of her eyes dimmed, and he almost told her he was sorry too. He was so sorry. But the words wouldn’t come, and she reached up to brush a finger across his cheek before she stepped away.

And then he was alone, his hand clutched around one that would never clutch his back again, his eyes fixing on the face he knew so well and loved so much. And his brain was stuttering towards comprehension, the fury that had struck him just moments before draining away as cold realization doused it.

“You’re dead.”

The words fell off his tongue as he looked down at Keith’s still face, left a bitterness behind that tasted something like sadness, like regret. It still felt surreal, even with Keith laying there before him. It still felt like he was in some nightmare, some fuzzy unreality, like none of it was actually happening.

Someone shifted on the other side of the table, and Lance forced himself to look up.

He found Coran watching him, eyes soft with sympathy, dark with grief.

“He’s dead.” Lance said to him, the words cutting his throat, choking him up. He could feel the tears now, trailing down his face. Keith was dead, Keith was dead…

“I’m so sorry, my boy,” Coran replied softly, voice deep with emotion, his gaze so very somber and sympathetic. “So very sorry.”

“Wh...what now?” Lance asked, feeling seeping back into him slowly, thickly. His mind was beginning to comprehend, slowly and surely, and it was like someone was digging a knife into his chest very, very slowly. So slowly. Just the pressure and the spot of pain so harshly focused it felt like any second it would bring him to his knees. He was shaking from it, he could feel the uncontrollable trembling in his knees. He was shaking and Keith was dead and he didn’t know what came next.

“Now?” Coran seemed caught off guard by the question, taking a moment to eye Lance thoughtfully before he responded hesitantly, “Now, well...we would clean him up. It wouldn’t… it wouldn’t do to send him off in such a state…”

Lance watched Coran’s eyes turn to Keith, and he followed their gaze down, really looked Keith over for the first time since the battle. His armor was dirty, smeared with the beasts’ purplish ichor and dirt. His wounds - Lance’s mind hiccupped a little there, stumbled over the sight of them - and the tears in his body suit were blood stained, crusted over. He looked a mess… a mess... Lance would call him a _hot mess_ sometimes _,_ and Keith would always glare at him in return, always respond with a sullen, “You still haven’t told me what that means…”

“It wouldn’t do,” Lance agreed, straining to speak around the tightening in his throat as the memory flickered through his head. He reached his free hand out to rub at a stain on Keith’s shoulderguard distractedly, “Do… do you have a machine?”

“A what?”

“A mah…” Lance began, stopped, gritted his teeth because the stain wasn’t coming off and a sob was threatening to claw its way out of his throat. He choked it back and finished, breathlessly, “A machine - you have, you have machines for… for everything…”

“Ah,” Coran said, understanding finally, and when Lance looked up at him he continued on gently, “No, not for this. _This_ we do ourselves. It would be...disrespectful otherwise, to be so impersonal.”

Lance nodded, not trusting his voice. He’d given up on the stain, but he couldn’t loosen his grip on Keith’s hand. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

“You-” He did sob with that word, fought it back with eyes squeezed shut tight and desperate breaths “-you were waiting for me to leave?”

He opened his eyes to find Coran watching him closely, and even though he didn’t respond Lance knew his answer.

But Keith’s hand was still in his own, and when Lance looked down at him again, he couldn’t...he didn’t want... he couldn’t bear the thought of walking out of that room without Keith next to him, couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind.

And he thought of how close they’d become over the years of their relationship, how truly they loved each other and he knew he couldn’t leave Keith then, not at those last moments, that if anyone was going to be giving his body any final respect it should be _him_.

“I’ll help.”

Coran didn’t look surprised. Solemnly he nodded his head, once, in acknowledgement.

“We’ll just take him in back then, help him get cleaned up...” Coran said with a hint of his usual chipper self, but it sounded forced to Lance’s ears, and he knew it was for him more than anything, an attempt at normalcy, and the thought made the tears well in his eyes all the more, made the twist in his gut and the pressure in his chest throb.

But he choked it back. He helped Coran move the table to a back room, tried to take it all in but his head was buzzing and though he struggled he still couldn’t find a focus other than Keith, Keith, Keith on the table in his bloody armor and with his staring eyes and his cold hand still in Lance’s, Keith…

“We’re going to have to take the armor off,” Coran instructed in soft and careful tone, and Lance nodded - “Okay” - forced himself to let Keith’s hand go, to lay it down next to him gently. He reached for Keith’s helmet while Coran started on his boots, gripped the sides and tried to pull it off as gently as he could. His hands were shaking, his fingers didn’t want to grip and he realized he still had his gloves on. Biting his lip, he took a moment to pull them off, one finger at a time, drop them to the floor because what did they matter - what did they matter right then - and reached out for Keith’s helmet again.

His grip was sure, the helmet sliding off as he tugged at it gently. He hadn’t realized, however, he hadn’t thought of it - that there would be space left between Keith’s head and the table top but there _was_ and as Lance pulled the helmet away Keith’s head fell sharply to meet the table with a dull thud.

“Oh god,” Lance gasped, dropping the helmet to clatter on the floor as worry shot through him, unable to keep from leaning over, from cupping his hand around Keith’s face, “I’m sorry Keith, god I’m so… I’m…”

But Keith didn’t respond, and the pressure in Lance’s chest throbbed again, built up until a sob bubbled up his throat and out his mouth. He clenched his eyes against the tears and almost collapsed right there, almost let himself fall down, down, down, but he couldn’t. He still had to… _had to_ …

Had to force himself to open his eyes again. Force himself to stand upright, to ignore the stickiness of his cheeks and the ache of his chest. Force himself to bite his lip and choke back the sobs and turn his attention to the rest of Keith’s armor.

He tried _so hard_ to force himself to focus, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate even if his fingers stumbled along through their work. His mind couldn’t stop shifting between realization and memory, between what they’d had and could’ve had, what would never come.

A life, for one, an actual _real_ life without battles or war or the lives of entire planets hanging over their heads. Just a life they could live with each other, a life they could enjoy day by day, a life they would make for themselves -

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be like this…” Lance’s hands were helping Coran slide the back of the chestpiece out from under Keith but his head was clouded in memories, in all the could’ve beens, in all the plans they’d made so many times, whispered in the night or joked about under the sun. “He’d never seen the ocean - I mean the, the Earth, the Earth ocean…”

Lance looked up at Coran, and Coran looked at him, attentive. Patient.

“He wanted to see an ocean on Earth a-and I said, I said we-we…” Lance choked a breath, “We could live by one w-w-when we got back…”

He remembered, promising to show Keith his favorite beach in his hometown. Remembered Keith’s eyes lighting up as a shy smile grew on his face, a mischievous tone to his voice when he asked him, “You’re going to take me home with you?”

God, he remembered _so much_. Remembered barely being able to stand the hotshot who flew like he’d been born on the wing, who took every single top spot at the Garrison before Lance could blink, before he could even think about trying to challenge him. Remembered actually meeting him finally, actually getting to know him.

Remembered the moments that sparked what would become their relationship. Remembered the experiences that strengthened their bond. Remembered with startling clarity the moment he knew Keith loved him -

\- barely returned from a mission, they’d gone for a walk in the forests near the base on Olkarion, walking under low-boughed trees to a stream Keith had found once on his many nature walks. Sometimes he’d go alone but Lance had needed his presence then, would’ve probably followed him anywhere right then because his body was weary and his heart was heavy and he’d felt so lost again.

The battle had been difficult, and in the end useless. They’d lost, they’d retreated, and now they were regrouping, re-planning. Or at least the others were. He was in the forest, at the banks of a meandering stream with Keith holding his hand tight, leading him to the water’s edge. And Lance wanted to appreciate the beauty of the moment, the sun breaking through the leaves and the water sparkling in its beams but all he felt was heavy and sick.

“I wanna go home,” He’d grumbled finally, and he remembered Keith shooting him a sidelong glance, quiet but not inattentive, the way he was when he thought Lance needed to talk without commentary. And Lance heaved a sigh, bumping his shoulder against Keith’s. “Don’t you miss it too? Don’t you want to go home?”

A half-second, and he was regretting it, wishing desperately he could rewind and erase the words he’d spoken. Keith had only just told him about his parents, only just opened up to him about the uncertainty and loneliness that plagued his childhood.

Lance had wanted, rather dramatically, to curl up and die right there, but Keith had given him that soft look that meant he was about to say something meaningful and it gave him pause - and Lance had waited, a little wary, to hear what his partner was going to say. He couldn’t have guessed though, couldn’t have guessed that Keith would put a hand on Lance’s chest and respond in soft and steady voice -

“My home is right here.”

 

And maybe he truly felt it was, Lance thought as he watched Coran carefully snip Keith’s body suit off. Maybe he truly believed that but Lance couldn’t help the regret that pooled within him, the anger that flickered within it when he thought of how he’d wanted to give Keith a _real_ home - a place to come back to, a place where he’d feel safe and loved, a place where he really and truly belonged.

Gently he pulled pieces of the body suit off of Keith’s body and tried not to think of how badly he had wanted to give him the universe.

“I’m just going to take care of these real quick,” Coran said once they’d gotten the suit off, turning to a supply cart. Lance didn’t have to ask for clarification; his breath was already caught in his throat, his lip painful between his teeth as he tried desperately not to cry at the sight of Keith’s wounds.

The beasts had had very long, very sharp claws - and - and - and Lance had to look away, had to look anywhere but at the jagged slashes crossing Keith’s torso, the blood smearing his ashy skin. He’d wanted to be there right then, of course he did, he’d wanted to help in those last moments, but the image of those wounds would stay with him, he knew, even as he shifted to look at Keith’s face again, as he reached out a hand to brush back the hair that had fallen over his eyes while they’d undressed him.

Coran worked in silence.

Lance tried not to think too hard on how many times Coran had done this to be able to do it without breaking down. Tried not to think of how many friends Coran had seen to their final rest during the war. Tried.

“Lance.”

Lance hazarded a glance towards Coran, but his eyes strayed to Keith’s body. Coran was lifting a handheld device from his skin, and Lance could see it had melded the edges of the wounds shut. They were still raw, uneven, but they were closed. The sight was only slightly less terrible than before.

“How are you holding up?” Coran asked, eyes meeting Lance’s, voice soft.

Lance couldn’t stop himself from shaking. The pain was no longer just in his chest but in his entire body, throbbing like a heartbeat from his head to his toes.

“I’m okay.” He said, the words painful to get out.

“It’s all right if you want to leave,” Coran offered gently, eyes more worried now than sad.

“I can’t,” Lance shook his head, one hand straying to clutch at Keith’s again. “I, I can’t leave him.”

“I understand.”

“I _love_ him.” Lance said, because he didn’t think Coran did, he didn’t think Coran did understand.

The sadness was back in Coran’s eyes, and there was pain there too now, a tremble at his lips when he responded, “I know.”

“W-what else,” Lance pushed on, fiercely, determined to be there to the last, to be there for Keith until the very end. “What else do we.. do we have…”

Coran reached over the table, rested his hand on Lance’s.

“We’ll get him cleaned up now.”

They used warm water, and soft cloths, and washed the blood and the ichor off of Keith’s body. Lance’s tears fell freely, unable to hold back the sobs anymore he allowed himself to cry finally, to let it out before it choked him up completely. He traced each of Keith’s scars as he went, if he tried he could even remember what battle each one came from. He could remember - he had to remember, he had to make sure he remembered everything, every single thing. Desperately, he forced himself to look at Keith, look at his face, his hair, his lips, look at every scar he could see, try to memorize everything he saw because - because -

“He’s not going, he’s not going to be there,” He sobbed unable to keep his thoughts from becoming words. His voice was strained, wet and choked, he didn’t sound like himself. He could feel himself falling, falling, he couldn't do it anymore, “When I wake up, whenever I wake up he’s not, not there, not going to be there.”

Cloth discarded, Lance threw himself over Keith, the weight of of what had happened and the pain of his grief breaking through, finally, breaking him down. He cupped Keith’s face in his hands, brushed his cold skin with his fingers and cried. Keith was right there, still solid if not warm, and Lance thought that if he closed his eyes, if he tucked his head under Keith’s chin like he always used to do, then maybe - maybe - maybe god maybe - for just a moment longer he could pretend this was all a bad dream, that none of it was happening.

But even though he pressed his face into Keith’s neck, even though he curled his fingers in his dark hair, he knew, _knew_ , and the knowing hurt so bad.

“No,” He could only whimper between his heaving breaths, “No, no, don’t go don’t go…”

He wept.

“Not yet, not like this…”

But Keith was cold. Everything was cold, Lance could feel it. The numbness surrounding him was gone but the chill frost that replaced it was worse, because it came with the knowing and the knowing was the blade digging deep into his chest and the weight crushing him from above.

“I love you, I _love you_ , please...please don’t…”

Warm hands rested on his shoulders, but Lance pulled away from them, curled up closer to Keith.

“Lance,” Coran said softly, but Lance shook his head. Choked out a “no” that lacked the passion and fire of the one he’d snarled at Hunk. Coran’s hands gripped his shoulders gently, not pulling, just _suggesting_ , but Lance didn’t want it. His body felt heavy and his heart felt heavier and he just wanted to lay there, until he’d cried himself dry, until he was so empty inside he wouldn’t feel the pain anymore.

“Come here, come now.” Coran encouraged softly, tugging at him again.

“I c-can’t leave him,” Lance insisted, though he lifted his head finally. It was only to look at Keith though, only ever to look at Keith. He wasn’t going to see - he wasn’t going to see him again - he wasn’t… He lifted himself up, just enough to lean forward, to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead where he’d brush back his bangs, to his cheek.

“Come, it’s all right,” Coran continued soothingly, pulling at Lance until he was almost upright. His legs felt like jelly, felt like they didn’t even exist, but Coran held him up, let him lean his weight against his side.

“I can’t,” Lance whimpered, unable to keep himself from stroking Keith’s cheek, from touching him, unable to look away. “I can’t leave h-him.”

Coran’s hold shifted until he was holding Lance in a hug, pulled up tight against his chest like a child, and Lance couldn’t help but lean into it, into him.

“My boy,” Coran sighed, voice heavy and unsteady with emotion. “You can… you cannot know how sorry I am for you.”

The sobs wouldn’t stop coming. Tears streaming down his face, Lance finally turned away from Keith to press his face against Coran’s shoulder, to huddle in closer within the circle of his arms and try, try to find some sort of solace there.

But Keith was dead, Keith was _dead_ , and Lance didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Y-you want me to go,” He said into the fabric of Coran’s coat.

“You shouldn’t have to see this next part,” Coran replied hesitantly.

“But I can’t,” Lance protested, “I can’t leave him yet!”

“Not for long, just for a little bit,” Coran pulled away, just enough to force Lance to lift his head and look at him. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he smiled softly, wryly, as he continued, “Someone needs to find Keith something appropriate to wear, after all.”

Lance blinked slowly, confused for a moment before his mind was able to trudge through the grief and the pain and catch up.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah.”

“Do you think you can find something?” Coran asked, and Lance nodded, wiping a cheek with one sleeve.

“Of, of course.” His throat burned, his eyes burned, and when he looked at Keith the pressure in his chest threatened to bowl him over once again. But he forced himself to breathe, forced the memories and the regrets and the would’ve-could’ve-should’ve beens as far away from himself as he could, and tried to focus. “I’ll find something.”

“His jacket, maybe,” Coran offered, and Lance couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh at that.

“He’d never forgive me if I forgot it,” He managed to quip. His eyes didn’t want to stop looking at Keith, his body didn’t want to leave, but he forced himself out of Coran’s hold, forced himself not to throw himself over the table again. “I’ll go… I’ll go then.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Coran asked, but Lance shook his head, once.

“No, I got this.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer on his partner, his love, his heart thudding a little too painfully, and then he turned, and left.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I truly appreciate it.
> 
> If you'd like to see more updates on my writing, as well as updates on my Voltron Horror Collection, you can find me here: https://hollowrites.tumblr.com


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